


Renovation

by V_e_s_a_n_u_s



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Angst, Complete, Dalish Elves, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Elves, F/M, Fill-a-Thon, Finished, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Healing, Herald's Rest, Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), Mage Rights, Mages, Painting, Post-Break Up, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, References to Depression, Snow, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Tumblr Prompt, Val Royeaux (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 07:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20041876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_e_s_a_n_u_s/pseuds/V_e_s_a_n_u_s
Summary: Written for @DAPromptExchange’s Dragon Age Summer Fill-a-thon!Prompt: almost entirely out of spite, Lavellan paints over Solas’ fresco in the rotunda. What does she paint instead?This is just some fun for a final "Screw you!" to The Egg after he left, and a lot of emotional healing for Lavellan at the same time.





	1. an idea

It was a week since the final battle. Since she defeated Corypheus and his dragon. Since she closed the Breach with the Orb.

Since he left.

Ellana had been furious at him for weeks, months even, since that night by the lake: the night that meant so much to her. She thought that him removing her vallaslin would bring them closer together. He kissed her and she thought that it meant something, but he pulled away. He pulled away so quickly and then he was gone even though she never truly had him.

Ellana had been hurt before. She’d suffered emotional pain; she’d endured physical pain but never had she felt anything like that.

She threw herself into her work for the Inquisition: anything to get her mind off of it. Soon, that pain lessened and turned to anger, and she used that energy for the Inquisition as well. She focussed all she could on the task they had at hand.

But then he left.

He didn’t leave just her: he left the Inquisition. Without a warning or a reason. He was just gone. He left.

Solas left.

Again.

Ellana was enraged. She couldn’t believe he had the gall to just leave. Whether their relationship worked out or not, they were still friends, weren’t they? Did she really mean that little to him? Did he even care for her, for any of the members of the Inquisition?

Just thinking about it made the elf grit her teeth together in frustration, eyebrows furrowed and jaw tense. She was sitting at her desk in her room, quietly fuming. All of a sudden, her swirling whirlwind of angry thoughts came to a head when a strong gust of wind came in through the open windows and ruffled some of her papers.

She slammed her hand onto the table.

Ellana took a deep breath to steady herself. She told herself that there was no reason to get so irritated by the breeze. She needed to leave her desk, needed to go somewhere that wasn’t here. All she had here was her own thoughts and an empty room. Being alone meant she wrapped herself up in her thoughts and her thoughts were obsessed with how alone she was which made her mind more turbulent and angrier and angrier and-

She stood up. She needed to get out of the room. She needed to do something with all the angry energy she had, so Ellana stormed out of the room. She didn’t really know where she was headed, she was just walking.

Did she want to speak to someone?

If she wanted consolation, she’d speak to Cole. He’d understand her more than she understood herself. He could help. He’d want to help.

If she wanted a friend, she’d go to Dorian. He’d experienced his fair share of pain and anger. They could talk to each other for hours and she knew they’d both feel better afterwards. Or maybe they could just sit and read together, content in each other’s company.

If she wanted a distraction, she’d go to Varric. He always had a story or two on hand. He always seemed to know which story you needed, too.

If she wanted to forget, she’d go to Bull and the Chargers. They’d make her laugh and get her drunk and she wouldn’t have the mental capacity to think about Solas anymore, and even if she could, she wouldn’t want to.

The second she hit the Great Hall, she realised. She didn’t want to be around people right now. She grit her teeth harder greeting the people milling around, footsteps quick and quiet to get out of there as soon as possible. She needed to be alone-

Then Josephine started pushing open the grand doors at the end of the hall and Ellana swiftly ducked into one of the doors. She couldn’t deal with a conversation with someone so bubbly right now, let alone her closest friends. So she was unashamed when she closed the door behind her, hiding in the dark corridor.

She pressed her back against the door, eyes closed and tilted her head back against the hard wood. Ellana took a deep breath. She wouldn’t be able to get a moment’s peace. She was the Inquisitor, after all. All that power and still not enough to ask to be left alone. It was ironic. It was awful.

She let go of the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and opened her eyes. The breath caught in her throat. In all of the doors she could have opened, all of the side corridors she could have ducked into, she ended up here.

Solas’ rotunda.

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest.

Once, she would have skipped in here, happy as anything. This was the last place she’d visit before going out on a mission. It was the first place she’d visit when she came back. It was where she’d sit and talk with him for hours about the Fade or his dreams or elven lore. It was where they’d sit in silence next to each other, just holding each other's hands in peace. It was where she’d sit on his desk and watch as he went around the smooth, curved walls and painted as their story unfolded.  
It was a place of peace, of happiness, of love.

Now?

Now it was a place of hate.

It was the place where she pleaded with him to talk to her. It was where he ignored her attempts at rekindling what they had. It was where he should have been. It was where he wasn’t.

And that wasn’t right.

Solas didn’t have the right to still have this room. This wasn’t Solas’ rotunda, not anymore. It belonged to the Inquisition. Ellana was the Inquisitor, and more than that, she was the Inquisition. This room was hers, not some shrine to an elf who didn’t stick around for the aftermath. He didn’t deserve this place. He didn’t deserve anything from her.

She wanted to wipe him from her memory.

He deserved nothing more.

Ellana strode into the room like a terror: the anger she carried followed her like a cloud, almost visible in its intensity. She took one look at the desk, and, without hesitation, swept all of the papers and books onto the floor at once.

The fluttering of papers was drowned out by the thud of several books and the sound of something else clattering to the ground. Ellana’s gazed snapped over the edge of the desk to see what had made the noise.

There, amid the gently settling accounts of the hedge mage’s time in the Fade, was a single, lone paintbrush. The elf stared at it for a moment, mind quieting as her eyes narrowed in on it. She stayed there for a while, just looking, thoughts slowly turning over in her head.

And then she smirked.

* * *

Josephine had barely sat down by the time the Inquisitor burst into her office. She’d been held up in the Great Hall as she conversed with several nobles out of courtesy on the way in, informing several affronted nobles that no, the Inquisitor had not snubbed them, she was just very busy. All the while, Josephine had been infuriated that Ellana hadn’t listened to any of her advice on interacting with and placating the nobles and their need for attention and some semblance of ceremony. So when the Inquisitor slammed open her door, she had some very choice words to say to her. Before she could say any of them, however, the Inquisitor was already speaking.

“I need paint!”

The Antivan’s eyebrows scrunched downwards in an adorably confused frown, “Ah, paint?”

“Yes, paint. Do we have any?” Ellana was speaking quickly. She’d channelled all of her angry and spiteful energy into this excitable ball. She could do something, and she could do it now… if she had paint. Which is why, when Josephine didn’t instantly reply, she quickly prompted with, “Paint, Josie!”

Josephine laughed. She’d never seen the elf brimming with this much energy before: she was practically bouncing in front of her, and all over some paint? She could scarcely believe it. “I’m sure we can source some for you, your worship,” she replied, still smiling. She paused for a moment before continuing, “May I ask what for?”

Ellana’s smirk returned in full force with a wicked glint in her eye. She put her hand on Josephine’s desk and leaned forward. Her voice was low, quiet and full of delight.

“I’m going to re-paint the rotunda.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little background for the prompt so we know what headspace we're beginning the repainting with... hope you enjoyed it! XD


	2. the scar

It wasn’t long before Ellana was halfway up a ladder, Solas’ abandoned paintbrush in hand and palette balance on a rung. She hadn’t anticipated the difficulty she was having with balance with only one hand to paint. The reality of her missing hand hadn’t quite sunk in yet. However, she managed to balance prop herself up using her elbow on the ladder (and if that failed, she’d covered the floor around her in all the pillows she could find in the nearby rooms).

She wasn’t nearly as talented as Solas at painting, particularly the elven fresco that he worked so hard at, but Ellana didn’t mind. She was doing this for a purpose. No one who abandoned the Inquisition so quickly should deserve to leave such a profound mark on it.

It was calming and enjoyable, and almost therapeutic, in a sense. She was erasing the only physical remnant of Solas in the whole of Skyhold.

And that felt good.

She started at the beginning, where he had started. When they first came to Skyhold, Solas spent his first few weeks painting the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the explosion that caused the Breach. It reminded Ellana of everything that went wrong. It was the flint that sparked the fire that burned for over two years, the flame going out just under a week ago. She knew what she would replace it with.

Where Solas initially saw death and pain and suffering and failure, Ellana now saw healing. She saw the Breach closed and peace restored. She saw the end of their struggle. So she painted that.  
Where there was once orange, there was blue: a pale, shimmering blue scar on the dark night sky with stars all around. To her, the Scar showed that their battle was done. The night showed that this nightmare was drawing to a close. The stars represented hope: the hope that they didn’t dare have for the past two years. The hope that the people so desperately needed. The hope that everything was going to be okay.

She climbed down off the ladder once she’d finished that section and stepped back and looked at it with a grin, “One down. Seven to go.”

Ellana was going to return to her quarters that night, but she decided not to. This wasn’t his rotunda anymore. It was hers, and she was leaving her mark. 

* * *

It was mid-morning as Dorian took his walk back to his nook in the library. He was very pointedly not paying attention to the sideways glances he was getting from most of the nosier nobles he passed on the way. For some reason, no matter how hard the mage tried (and Dorian tried hard), he could never get his hair to stay in place after a night at Bull’s. He didn’t know what that qunari did to it, and Dorian was sure it was intentional, and he hated it. It almost made him consider not going at all. Almost.

He strode in through Solas’ rotunda, greeting at Ellana as he whisked by, almost completely leaving the room before he stopped in his tracks. Dorian span around with a sharp click of his heels.  
“Ellana… Just what are you doing?” He asked, voice laden with incredulity. The Inquisitor waved her balancing arm at him and wobbled dangerously backwards until she lost her balance and fell. Dorian managed to cast a spell at the last second, lifting one of the pillows upwards to catch her and taking her down to the floor gently, “Trying to kill yourself, I see,” he clucked his tongue, “Not the best method, in my opinion.”

“I didn’t ask,” Ellana grinned, taking the hand he offered her.

“I know,” he smirked back, “What are you do- is that paint?”

Ellana looked where his gaze fell, on the upturned palette squashed into the floor with the paint already pressed into the stone and the paint currently leaking out of one of the knocked over vials. The elf cursed softly under her breath, picking up the palette and righting the vial quickly. The smudged paint on the floor added to her own rustic paint style, she decided.

“Yes, it’s paint. You look surprised: do you not have paint in Tevinter?” She quipped, raising an eyebrow, “Is this a Ferelden speciality?”

The mage rolled his eyes, “We have paint, it just doesn’t normally smell like that. It smells like somebody set a brewery on fire.”

“Well, you don’t have to drink it, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I suppose that’s not much of a problem now, is it? I heard you’ve become rather fond of our Ferelden drinks…”

Dorian’s voice lowered in a mock threat, “If you tell a soul about that, you’ll find yourself without somebody to catch you next time you fall.”

Ellana laughed and Dorian laughed with her. “My pillows would have worked! And I only fell off because of you in the first place… I think you ought to compensate me, Master Pavus.”  
The mage rolled his eyes and bumped shoulders with the elf with a shared grin, “So what is it you’re doing?”

“Painting!” Ellana replied, brandishing her paintbrush and sweeping her hand over the first finished painting and the half-finished second one.

“You call that painting? Finger painting, I suppose?” Ellana swatted him upside the head but he ducked out of the way, “Don’t touch my hair,” he said, ducking in fake fear and a laugh.

“It looks like somebody else has been doing quite a bit of touching,” Ellana smirked, “Having fun with Bull lately?”

“Oh, hush, you,” Dorian replied, with a blush most definitely not forming on his cheeks, “So what is it? What are you doing?”

“I’m renovating. I figured we could use a change after…” She paused for a moment, “After everything that happened. Plus, these used to be so serious!”

“Well, considering who painted them I’m hardly surprised,” the mage chuckled, “He wasn’t the most flamboyant character.”

Ellana nodded, “So this one here,” she said conversationally, gesturing with her amputated arm, “I think was when we declared the Inquisition. It had Visus here,” she pointed at the remaining outline of the sword and eye that was half-covered with her new, slowly evolving mural, “And these wolves here-”

“They were wolves, were they?”

“Yeah,” Ellana said thoughtfully, running a hand over the last remaining wolf on that segment, “He seemed to like them for some reason,” she paused, “There are some later on too.”

The Tevinter nodded in response, “That’s… something. You know, for all the time I knew him, and even though we didn’t get along, I really didn’t know much about him.”

“He’s like that,” she analysed the wolf absently, “I thought I knew him, and I was wrong about that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, Dorian.”

There was a moment of sincere and comfortable silence where the two mages just stood side by side. They stared at Ellana’s new painting slowly creeping over the remains of Solas’ fresco. The colour difference was most startling: where Solas’ had been dark and grey, Ellana’s was bright and full of bursts of colour. The large swathes of gold, deep burgundy and purple stretched up and down the tall rotunda walls were what caught Dorian’s eye.

He pointed, soft fingertips mere centimetres from the wet paint, to the purple section and asked, “What is this?”

“You mean ‘who’. That’s your spymaster,” Ellan smiled at him as Dorian took a few steps back. Once he was at a distance, the paint formed into a hooded figure. He could see her face, simplistic in its art style, just grazed softly by Leliana’s trademark red hair.

“Kaffas,” he muttered under his breath as it all came together, “It’s so clea- and that must be the Commander, then,” he interrupted himself, pointing at the deep red which he could now see formed the fur around the man’s head, which was dusted with gold. The same gold, in fact, that made up most of the next figure, whom Dorian could now recognise as Josephine, with her elegant and shimmering dress cascading to the floor of the rotunda in poofy waves, “Wow.”

Dorian looked around the rotunda slowly as Ellana righted her ladder, “I see,” his eyes finally landed on the Scar the elf had painted yesterday, “This is really beautiful, Ellana.”

The elf smiled at him, “Thanks. I’m not nearly as good as he was, but…” She turned her smile back to the mural too, “I think it means something better.”

The mage was touched. He could see from the way Ellana was looking at her painting what it meant to her. It wasn’t just something to do, it was something she had to do. Dorian was proud of her.  
The mage pulled the small elf into a hug, which she gladly accepted.

“I should get back to it,” Ellana said with a smile, pulling back gently.

“Of course,” Dorian replied, “I’ll come and read in here,” he paused for a moment and then chuckled, “I’ve only ever passed through here, I don’t think I’ve ever stayed… if you do a good job with the painting, I might spend more time here before I leave. Or I might not.”

Ellana laughed back, climbing back up the ladder, “Sounds good!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got to bring in Dorian!! My child!! He'll be baaaaaccckk!! XD  
Let me know what you thought :)


	3. mages

She had enjoyed Dorian’s company. Yesterday, she would have broken down having to talk to anyone about this, but the painting had made her feel much better. She felt productive and content: she had something to do. It was the first time in a long, long time that Ellana was doing something for purely herself.

And she felt happy.

Dorian had joined her, as he’d said, lounging much like an overgrown cat on the sofa by the door. The flickering candle beside him lit up his face with a soft warm glow as he read one of the thick, leather-bound books he’d brought down from the library. Every now and again he’d chuckle and remark on the book’s bias or a poorly worded sentence, and Ellana would smile fondly at him. She was glad for the mage’s company.

They’d returned after lunch, slowly moving onto the third segment as the sun rose higher and began to fall again. This next mural used to be depicting Alexius’ defeat after they helped the mages in Redcliffe. Ellana had never liked this one. It depicted everything that was wrong with magic. It was time for that to go.

Over the next few hours, Ellana’s borrowed paintbrush was dipped in all of the different colour paints she had access to. She had explosions of colour bursting out over the entire panel, with dancing fire and lightning arcing across the smooth wall. Delicate flakes of snow fell from the top and the shimmering green glow of the fade surrounded a small wisp in the centre.  
She stepped hopped down from the ladder and looked at her new creation. It was her favourite one so far, the most colourful of all of them. It made her happy to see the wonders of magic presented positively for once: not as a threat but as something wonderful. But it still felt like it was missing something, though.

Dorian chuckled softly under his breath.

Ellana glanced over at him, moustache quirked as he smirked at the page, fingers gently trailing the spine of the book he was cradling in his lap. She raised her eyebrows when the idea came to her, and at a moment’s notice, she was back on the ladder, painting away again.

Night had fallen by the time she next put her paintbrush down, her hair sticky and hands (and face, though she didn’t know it yet) splattered with paint. She sighed tiredly, but contentedly, with a soft smile.

"I give you…” She said to Dorian, gesturing across the new fresco with a flourish, “Mages.”

The mage looked up from his book for the first time in a couple of hours. He’d glanced up occasionally when Ellana started humming or muttering under her breath just to watch her for a few moments before going back. This, however, was the first time he’d properly looked at the new segment.

The bright bursts of colour representing the different Schools of Magic were still clear and prominent, but were now part of the backdrop. In the foreground were four figures, all standing tall and proud. Dorian recognised them instantly and smiled.

On the far left was Vivienne, glowing sword held between closed fingers, her face mostly clear-cut angles: perfect and precise. Next was Ellana, marked hand reaching up towards the sky, and silhouetted by one of the bright purple bolts of lightning shooting towards the ground. Stood next to her was Dorian himself, moustache mirroring his mouth as it curved upwards into a smirk, his hands cradling a ball of carefully tamed lightning.

The remaining mages in the Inquisition… but then there was one more.

The last figure made his breath catch in his throat. A mustard yellow cloak with a burgundy trim, following the outlines of a simple design across his chest. He stood close to Dorian in the painting, slightly shorter and gaze fixed on him.

“Alexius,” he breathed softly.

Ellana nodded, smiling gently at him, “What do you think? Do you like it?”

The mage nodded, “It’s lovely.”

"He deserved to be on there,” she said, looking back up at them, “The mages who served the Inquisition.”

They stood in silence for a while, and Ellana came over and squeezed his hand as they stared at the third mural. When the candlelight dwindled, they both decided to head to the Herald’s Rest to meet up with some of the others. She’d start again tomorrow. 

* * *

  
By the time she’d finished the next mural the next day, Ellana regretted what she decided to paint. The sheer number of people she had to paint was extraordinary. Although they were only identical silhouettes, there were so many of them that her arm was aching and her eyes were blurry.  
What was initially the destruction of Haven with Corypheus eerily looming over it, was now one of the most uplifting memories of Ellana’s time with the Inquisition. A thick sheet of snow and a huge group of silhouettes around a softly glowing fire, singing.

The elf was never sure she’d forget the tremble in her lip as the sound of desperate hope in those people’s voices rang out. She’d never heard that hymn before that night, but she would never forget it. Casting her mind back over the past two years, she couldn’t believe how accurate it turned out to be.

  
_The night is long_  
_ And the path is dark_  
_ Look to the sky_  
_ For one day soon_  
_ The dawn will come_

  
It had taken years, and they’d encountered some of the worst things Ellana could possibly imagine. So many people died, so many people they couldn’t save, so many people they failed. But in the end, they succeeded. Glancing back to her painting of the Scar in the sky she did first, she felt better.

It was worth it. They had won.

  
_**The dawn came.**_

  
Josephine paid a visit that day as well, to see how her painting was going. Ellana was having a break next to Dorian on the sofa when she entered, sipping from a small cup of tea. The elf saw her as she entered and gave her a little wave.

She gaped at the half-painted rotunda, eyes wide as she took in the new paintings, “My, Inquisitor… I didn’t believe you were this, ah, serious about repainting in here!” She spun around slowly, taking it all in, “But I’m so glad you did, your worship, this is just marvellous!”

“Josephine, please just call me Ellana,” she laughed in response. She didn’t know how many times she’d told the Antivan that she didn’t have to be so formal with her, but it never seemed to quite sink in, “But thank you.”

Josephine perused the wall, bringing a hand up and brushing it gently over the (thankfully) dried paint from a few days ago, “Is this me?”

“That is indeed,” Ellana said with a smile, watching her from the chair, her legs pulled up under her, “I didn’t do too bad a job, did I? I know I’m no portraitist, but-”

“No, no! It’s wonderful,” she smiled brightly, “You didn’t have to paint me.”

“I know,” Ellana replied after sipping her tea, “But you’re as much a part of this Inquisition as I am, perhaps more so – and you were key in its formation, so it’s only right you’re depicted. Do you not agree, Ambassador?”

Josephine simply smiled in response, looking back up at herself and the other advisors. She’d had so many portraits done before: alone, with her siblings or her whole family. There was always a purpose: to demonstrate status or give as a gift to someone else. This was the first painting of her she’d ever had done when it was just out of kindness and consideration. Walking over to Ellana, Josephine laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and thanked her.

“Do you need any more paint?” She asked, trying to locate the vials which were partially obscured by the ladder propped up against the wall.

Ellana was already nodding, “Yes please, that’d be great. I’m almost out of… well, all of them really.”

The Ambassador laughed, “I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed, let me know if you did! XD


	4. a friend

When Josephine returned with new paints later that day, Ellana decided to stay painting in the rotunda. Dorian had left, only his small stack of books and a faint smell of wine left in his wake. He’d disappeared to the Herald’s Rest when Cullen had walked through, mumbling about needing a drink. Naturally, the mage jumped to his feet and offered to accompany him. Ellana laughed, yelling that she hoped Bull didn’t hear him say that as the two left the room; Dorian sauntering away with a smirk and Cullen following him like a defeated puppy.

She was grateful for Josephine bringing some different brushes when she brought the new paints because she knew exactly what she was going to do with them. This next painting was going to be a challenge to pull off respectfully, but it was Ellana’s own idea that she was not going to change anytime soon.

The sun was beginning to set when she began the new painting, and it had fully set once she had finished. Ellana couldn’t see how dark it was outside since there were no windows at the bottom of the rotunda. The only tell that it was night was how cold it had become. She hadn’t lit a fire to keep her warm whilst she was painting because she was worried, as Dorian had so astutely noticed, that the paints contained a lot of alcohol.

Even though she’d painted four of the panels already, Ellana still wasn’t an expert in painting with only one hand, and she was sure that if there was an open flame, she’d knock a vial off and directly into the fire itself. The rest would be history. Bards would sing about her heroic tale and journey in the Inquisition, and its abrupt end.

As she mulled over the thought she laughed and created a song in her head, the jolly, satirical kind a bard might sing about her tragic tale.

_“Oh, Lavellan was the Inquisitor,_  
_ The elf was brave and strong._  
_ She fought with all her enemies_  
_ And brought her friends along._  
_ And finally, she closed the Breach,_  
_ The Fade was locked away._  
_ And when she faced Corypheus,_  
_ An Elder God was slain._  
_ Oh, Lavellan was the Inquisitor,_  
_ All she did inspire,_  
_ But when it came to keeping warm,_  
_ She set herself on fire.”_

Giggling to herself, she took the new addition in with warm eyes. A warmth that did not, in fact, heat the room and thus she was still shivering. But it was better than that abomination of a song ever seeing the light of day.

The previous mural was very dark, in her opinion. The siege on Adamant Fortress, painted in varying shades of grey, with the Nightmare’s wicked eyes staring out at the viewer. When she’d first seen the mural, after Solas had first painted it, her heart filled with sadness. It was when they’d lost Hawke.

She couldn’t see herself painting anything else other than the man who had so courageously sacrificed himself for her and her team. She also remembered how often he was complaining that there weren’t enough 7ft portraits of him in Skyhold. She had the opportunity to make that dream come true, and she wasn’t going to let him down.

Ellana smiled. She hadn’t known the man for very long, but she did like him. He was funny and snarky and had a confidence she hadn’t seen in anyone. He was an inspiration. And, given Varric’s recounts, he was a good friend. That was more important.

Her painting of the Champion wasn’t extravagant or elegant, because she didn’t think that represented him best. Her painting was bold colours with thick outlines, with Hawke front and centre. He adopted a wide stance, his hands tightly gripping the staff raised above him. The background was playful and purple, and, of course, across his bearded face, that tell-tale smudge of red paint across the bridge of his nose. Ellana thought that he would have liked it, and that’s all that really mattered.

Then Ellana paused. It wasn’t the only thing that mattered. That was why Ellana had worked so hard to make it turn out perfectly.

She finished inspecting her drawing and hurried off to the Herald’s Rest. It was colder in the courtyard than it was in the rotunda, so Ellana sped through it as quick as she could. The few bystanders that were around saw the tiny dot of an elf shoot past them in silence, all shivers and smiles and very messy hair. She laughed quietly about that on the way. Her hair, now windswept from running, was thrown into a form of haphazard ponytail she never learned how to do. It was also unwashed and covered in paint from the last few days’ work, but it was somehow so very her in her most basic essence.

Inside, Ellana took a moment to soak in the warmth of the tavern. It wasn’t just the heat from the fireplace that was seeping slowly into her bones. The energy of the pub was always this cosy. The soft golden lighting, the murmur of chatter from the patrons, the happy smiling faces: it was like walking into the hug of a very old friend.

A very old, drunk friend.

The Inquisitor looked around, and it didn’t take long to locate the ever-growing table where her inner circle were seated. They didn’t all appear at once, nor was it planned. It was almost expected at this point, that eventually people would end up crowded around a table, drinking and laughing and passing out (for some unfortunate members of the Inquisition).

Perhaps it would start with the Iron Bull, leaving his seat in the corner and coming to a table in the middle. Krem would join him for a bit, sit and laugh and chat until he decided to go and join the rest of the Chargers. Sometimes he stayed, and it was nice. Ellana didn’t get to speak to Krem much nowadays, since he was out on more and more away missions. She liked talking to him, though, because he was funny, and occasionally would have something very interesting to say that would give the Inquisitor pause.

Or maybe the table would begin by Varric coming in and sitting down, ordering a couple of drinks for his companions who had yet to arrive. He’d chat to the bard who would ask for ideas for her song and he’d give a grin and a snarky, yet probably insightful phrase like “If I give you an idea, is it your song?” and the bard, Maryden, would roll her eyes. The dwarf would give an idea anyway, because he knew that he had no ear for writing songs. He’d only just grasped poetry: he liked sticking with good old-fashioned prose. Maybe some patrons would come over and he’d tell them a story about the Champion or the Inquisitor, or perhaps an original work, and they’d listen with rapt attention even though they’d heard it a thousand times before. Everyone knew that listening to a Tethras reading was like taming a wild bronto: you never knew how it was going to go. He always added something in, maybe a niggly detail that would bug you later or a scene you’d never heard before that added nothing but flavour to the story.

Word would spread through the patrons leaving the tavern for the night that the Iron Bull was drinking the tavern dry again, or that Varric was telling another epic by the door, and eventually that would reach the ears of the inner circle, if they hadn’t wandered in already. They didn’t all come at once, and they didn’t always come.

Cole would come and perch, cross-legged, on the edge of the table, enraptured by a story or the way Bull downed pints like a starving man with his first taste of food in days. As he became more human, he began trying new things, but the one thing he could say he whole-heartedly regretted trying was one of those Maker-awful drinks that was sliding down the qunari’s throat. It made him gag just thinking about it.

If Vivienne came, she would always… well, be Vivienne. She didn’t drink the tavern’s drinks: she always brought her own. Ellana once asked to try what the mage had brought, but Vivienne simply laughed elusively back.

Cassandra always sat next to Varric. She made it out that she hated it, but really everyone knew that the warrior genuinely liked the dwarf. Ellana was glad that such a banter-filled relationship stayed light and didn’t become bitter, as they so often could. She loved seeing them together, the way Cassandra pursed her lips trying to hold back a laugh at one of Varric’s awful jokes. It made the Inquisitor very happy to see some of the first Inquisition members still getting on so well.

Sera would sit wherever she could. She’d keep the pretence of just being there for drinks up as long as she could, until her excitable mind couldn’t take it anymore and began to slowly enact one of several pranks she had planned. The funniest one to date was when she went to collect the next round of drinks and replaced them all with water. It didn’t sound too terrible, but the look on the Iron Bull’s face when he went to take a big gulp of his drink and found it to be just plain, lukewarm water. Ellana thought he was going to take her head off.

Blackwall would set up himself up next to the Iron Bull and try to match the number of pints he put back. He never could, and always ended up under the table before the night was out. He didn’t like to remind himself that the Iron Bull was already a few pints ahead of him before he joined. He didn’t want to hurt his pride that much.

Dorian tended to sneak in later, under the guise that he didn’t drink Ferelden alcohol so there was no point in being there, but honestly, he was probably the one who loved it the most. He enjoyed how open and honest and friendly it was here in a Ferelden tavern. It wasn’t what he was used to, but it was a refreshing change. Oh, and Bull was there and every time they made eye contact Dorian’s heart fluttered like a caged bird and he chastised himself for acting like a teenage girl.

This evening, at the table, sat Cassandra, Bull, Dorian and Cullen, all of whom were staring at Varric, who was standing at a stool at the end of the table, clearly about to start a tale. The few other patrons still remaining at this hour were also peeking round to get a look.

The dwarf’s hands came up, as if to brace the audience for his introduction. He decided he’d start with an old classic, “No shit: there I was-”

Ellana laughed from the doorway, “I’ve heard this one! Do another one!”

Tongue-in-cheek, Varric grinned back at her, “You’ve heard all of them, Sparky! Are you staying for this one or just going to heckle?”

Ellana bit her lip in consideration.

“I could do with a good heckler. I haven’t had someone to properly challenge me since Kirkwall.”

“Oi!”

“You heard me, Sparky!”

The Inquisitor shook her head with a smile, “As much as I’d like to, I need to talk to you.”

The dwarf’s smile dropped a bit, and the Inquisition members instantly picked up on it.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now, dwarf,” Bull said sinisterly, before chuckling.

Cassandra sighed, putting her head in her hand, “What has he done this time?”

“Perhaps I need to talk to him alone to ask him why his chest hair and I haven’t had one-on-one time yet!” Ellana joked, reaching for his chest with mock desperate, outstretched fingers.

The dwarf laughed in response, “Alright then. Seeker, you’ll have to tell this one for me.”

“I am not telling one of your stories.”

“What about Swords and Shields? The spine of that book is in tatters. You must know it by heart by now.”

“Varric!” Cassandra blushed furiously, her only saving grace that the book series itself wasn’t particularly popular or well known. Of course, all of the members of the inner circle knew by now, but hopefully none of the patrons would. That’s what the warrior thought, until she made eye contact with someone staring directly at her, eyebrow raised in amusement. Cassandra’s blush intensified.

Varric had swiftly moved on after that comment and was heading towards Ellana with relative speed for someone of his stature.

“Get back here, dwarf!” Cassandra snapped across the tavern, half-joking and half furious.

Varric didn’t stop. Both the dwarf and the Inquisitor sped out of the tavern together, neither wanting to face the human’s wrath.

“VARRIC!” They heard from inside, followed by a softer, spoken, “I am going to kill him one of these days.”

The two burst out laughing in the snow.

When their laughter had died down, Ellana glanced down at him, still grinning, “Come on, let’s get out of the snow. I’ve got something to show you.”

Varric followed after her, “So I’m not in trouble?”

“Why? Should you be?”

The dwarf’s answer was suspiciously quick, “No.”

“Right…” The Inquisitor glanced down at him with a smile, wondering what mischief he’d been up to, or what inconceivable story he’d told someone about her. She only hoped that he and Sera hadn’t joined up for any plans for pranks again. The first time was enough. Sera’s mischievous will and Varric’s creativity made for a wicked combination that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of.

“So, what are you showing me, Sparky?” Varric asked once they’d entered the Great Hall.

“It’s through here,” Ellana pointed to the door on their right, “I need you to tell me if you like it.”

“Cryptic as ever, Sparky,” Varric nodded, “But okay. But I’m on my guard now. What could you possibly have done that requires a dwarf’s opinion?”

Ellana smiled, opening her mouth to respond but Varric was already talking.

“Oh no, Sparky, you didn’t try and build something did you?” The dwarf was looking at her with incredulity, “If we go through there and onto the battlements and you’ve built a house, I swear to the Maker-”

The Inquisitor was laughing, shaking her head, “Come on” she said with a happy sigh, pushing through the door and into the rotunda. They walked into the dark room together, standing by the desk.

“I can’t see anything.”

“Give me a second!” Ellana laughed at his impatience, casting a small fire spell that hopped around the room, lighting the various candles that were on the floor. As more and more of them were unveiled, more of the elven fresco she’d created was too.

“Woah,” One by one, he worked his way around the room, looking at each of the panels, “And you did all of this?”

Ellana nodded, “It’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s ‘just something’-” Varric cut himself off in shock, staring at the new addition. His breathing became quick and he muttered as a whisper, “Hawke.”

“He did so much for us, so I thought I should honour him. I thought maybe he’d like it.”  
Varric didn’t say anything.

“Is it okay? I want it to be respectful,” she paused, looking at the dwarf’s turned back, “I want it to be okay with you.”

The dwarf was silent.

“I can take it down- I, it’s not too difficult, I’ll just paint over it. I thought that maybe-”

Varric turned around. He had unshed tears in his eyes, although he’d never admit it. “It’s wonderful.”

“Really? It’s okay?”

“He would have loved it, at least,” Varric said softly.

“I can paint over it, if you’d like,” Ellana suggested gently. The dwarf didn’t seem too happy with it, and she didn’t want to offend him.

“No,” Varric said, turning back to look at the painting, “Don’t do that.”

“Alright.”

They stood in silence for a moment, before Ellana went and sat on the sofa opposite the mural.

Varric followed her, and she pulled him into a hug as they sat there and looked at the painting.

They stayed there for hours, just holding each other, content to enjoy each other’s warmth as they watched the fresco flicker in the candlelight. They left when the candles burned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And what have we learned today, folks?   
I should never write a song.   
First and last time I promise you that! XD
> 
> If you have the time leave kudos and a comment to let me know what you think! :D


	5. winter palace

The next morning, the Inquisitor was up and painting again before many of her companions were even awake. She was eager to finish the fresco, and with only three more panels to go, she was aiming to finish by the next day. That meant she had her work cut out for her, because her plan for the next few paintings was quite detailed in comparison to what she’d done before.

To be fair, this next panel Ellana had always liked. It was the lightest of all the panels, made up of whites and blues and golds. It was the only one Ellana would describe as beautiful rather than unique or interesting or morbid. Not that the others weren’t brilliant pieces of art, but Ellana found it difficult to appreciate the darkness of one of the paintings when she’d had to live through it.

The next mural was of their trip to the Winter Palace. Empress Celene stood proud in the centre, alive and well, with her long blue dress cascading down the ballroom beneath her. The assassination plot had been foiled, thankfully, and thus this was a happy scene.

She decided to replace it with all of the brilliant dancing all the attendees were performing. She found the masks and the dresses and the jackets and the outrageous accessories amazing and knew that it would be fun to paint. She considered adding in the Inquisition members, but as the piece came together, she found that she liked the anonymity of all of the masked people in her drawing. It made the piece much more mysterious and elegant, much like the Orlesians under them.

She was only halfway through that mural when Varric came in with a stream of people behind him,

“And here we see the Inquisitor, in her natural habitat!”

Ellana glanced over at the door that burst open and laughed at the dwarf, “Natural? I don’t think so.”

Trailing in behind the dwarf was Dorian, looking smug, the Iron Bull and Maryden, lute in hand. Ellana waved them all in with her paintbrush. The mage sauntered in, plopping himself down on the sofa as he usually did, pausing before picking up a book as he usually did, instead beckoning to Bull.

The qunari declined, in favour of admiring the new fresco that now covered over half the rotunda. He paused at the Scar, admiring the shimmering paint Ellana had used. He smiled at her rendition of the mages, eyes lingering on the moustached mage front and centre.

“Wow, boss,” he said genuinely, “I never knew you could paint.”

Ellana laughed, “I can’t. I just have a lot of determination to rid this place of a certain someone,” Bull snorted, “And also a lot of paint. Kinda went hand in hand.”

“Don’t put yourself down,” Bull said, in that sincere tone he used sometimes that reminded her that he was a much more interesting person than she had initially thought, “This is good stuff, boss.”

Ellana gave a small smile, “Thanks.”

The bard was setting herself up in front of the painting of the Scar, where she knew she wouldn’t be in the way. Ellana didn’t have much time to ask what she was doing before the bard spoke up, readying her lute with an experienced hand.

“Any requests?”

The Inquisitor thought for a moment. As she reshuffled herself on her ladder to look at her, she glanced at the fresco she was painting. She knew in a heartbeat the song that would work the best.

“Empress of Fire,” Ellana said, “If you feel like it.”

Maryden laughed in response, “If I feel like it, she says. How could I not feel like it? It’s my favourite.”

The Inquisitor smiled at that, and the bard began to play. She turned back to her painting.

The qunari attempted to sit next to Dorian on the sofa, but his large form made it quite impossible without crushing the man. Instead, he opted to lift the mage up and plop him down on his lap like he weighed nothing.

Dorian blushed furiously, chastising in an instant, “Bull-”

“Shh,” the Iron Bull replied, picking up one of the books on the floor, “Read this, I’m watching.”

Dorian gaped at the gall of the qunari, glancing round in exasperation and embarrassment. He made eye contact with Varric across the room who laughed at his so-called misfortune.

The dwarf himself stood opposite the painting of Hawke and he propped himself up against the wall, watching. Varric had what Ellana would call a writer’s eyes. He saw more than was there, he saw feeling and energy in movements the way no one else could. He saw details no one else recognised, like the way someone’s nails were chewed, or their hands were calloused. He saw more than people; he saw their personalities. Ellana could see all that wisdom, that age beyond years, in his shiny eyes. She never knew if she enjoyed being watched by him because she didn’t know if she was being judged for something she wasn’t even aware of. But it was interesting to watch him watch someone else.

Being on the receiving end of that gaze in the rotunda with the soft playing of the bard was unnerving, so Ellana endeavoured to perfect the panel she was painting. This was her favourite time to paint so far, however.

She was surrounded by friends in the soft candlelight with the dulcet tones of the bard flowing around the room. People began to peek over the edge of the balconies above them to see what was happening. Several of them came down to visit and see the ever-growing painting, and the room was filled with murmurs of appreciation and sometimes, if Ellana could believe it, awe. It was a lovely few hours of peace and contentment.

By the time she was done, she was covered in paint, but she was satisfied. It was done: she’d finished the Winter Palace, with all its dancing and merriment and sparkles that she could include. She thought she captured the energy of the ball, rather than the assassination.

“Lunch, then?” She said, jumping down off of the ladder and steadying herself when she wobbled.

All of the eyes turned to her at once, all of them saying a resounding “Yes!”

Ellana chuckled and led the way out of the room, accepting their compliments about her new panel as best she could. She didn’t stop blushing for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love me a bit of Adoribull, even when they're not reeeaaally the focus of the fic. (Then again, when are those two *not* the focus XD)
> 
> If you have the time, leave a comment or kudos and let me know what you thought! :D


	6. finishing up

After their meal, Ellana decided to stay and chat with her friends. She hadn’t spoken to all of them together in a while, so she thought it would be a good time to catch up. She’d been preoccupied with the rotunda for a bit, and hadn’t really got out much. They went out for a walk outside Skyhold. It was still cold, and they hadn’t dressed for the weather, but it was nice. They started to head back in when it darkened though.

The walk and chat with a bunch of her friends left her feeling revived, so she decided to head back in to squeeze in one more panel before the night was up. Ellana said goodbye to everyone as they headed back to the Herald’s Rest, for drinks rather than food this time.

She walked into the rotunda and sighed, happily.

The past couple of days had been the happiest she’d felt in a long time. She didn’t feel lost or purposeless anymore. She didn’t miss Solas. She didn’t want to see him or talk to him, not even to yell or hit him, as she had begun to want over the past weeks. She wasn’t bitter. She was content.  
She was, however, tired. Not tired like she was used to. Not in that same way she felt in her bones, a dull aching deep inside her legs. Not in the way she felt in her muscles, a sharp tugging whenever she moved. Not in the way she felt after a hard day’s travelling and fighting. Perhaps tired was the wrong word, perhaps instead she was… sleepy. Just a pleasant weariness after a job well done.

The job, however, wasn’t done yet.

She just had two frescos left in the entire rotunda, which she was proud of in the short amount of time she’d done it in. Her painting style was simple, far simpler than Solas’ minimalistic fresco had been. She thought that maybe, once she’d finished the whole thing in those bright, block colours she’d done already, she might go back and add in the smaller details that would really make her paintings pop.

For now, though, she was happy.

She hadn’t painted in this style for a while, or in at all, for that matter. She could barely remember the last time she painted, but she remembered the first time as clearly as she remembered defeating Corypheus.

The first time the elf had painted was when she was young, not long after her powers had manifested. The Keeper had sat down and spoke to her and told her what was happening, in a way that had never been explained before. Ellana had been upset, she still didn’t understand. The Keeper held her for a while, but then gently pushed the small elf back to look her in the eye.

_“Ellana,” the Keeper Deshanna said, wise eyes taking her in, seeing more than the young elf wanted, “You must understand that this is not a bad thing.”_

_The small girl’s big green eyes were sad and full of tears about to be shed, “I hurt somebody! I hurt Gariel!”_

_“I know,” the Keeper said slowly, “Did you mean to?”_

_“No! No, he’s my friend!” Ellana yelped, lip quivering._

_“Precisely.”_

_The smaller elf looked up at the Keeper. Her eyes were pleading for aid, for help, for an explanation; something to help her understand. “What’s happening to me?”_

_The Keeper’s eyes closed for a moment, her mouth pursing in thought. Their clan always had been open about magic, as most elven clans are. The elves are accepting and well-educated, and nothing like the blind terror that humans felt in the wake of their mage counterparts. It was the only way Deshanna could see that it worked, but perhaps she was biased, being a mage herself. As a result of this, all of the young elves knew about magic._

_They just never recognised the signs in themselves._

_Every young elf that the Keeper had ever encountered did the same thing. At first, they were frightened and horrified at what they’d done, whether it was set fire to a tree or freeze an elder, or, in this case, electrocute their best friend. As soon as the Keeper explained what was going on, however, their opinion changed quickly, and they had taken their first step to being well on their way to becoming a confident mage._

_The Keeper didn’t see why that same logic didn’t apply to the humans. All mages need to flourish safely is understanding and education. A bitter streak that many of the older elves had crept into her mind as she thought that humans never really understood anything, but she pushed the thought aside for another time._

_The Keeper’s eyes opened once more, laying them gently upon the young mage, “You’re developing magic. You just cast your first spell: rather unsuccessfully, I’m afraid,” the Keeper laughed, trying to lighten the mood so that the child understood that it was okay._

_Ellana was gawking up at the Keeper, “Me? A mage?” She looked down at her tiny hands in awe, and then glanced back up, “Really?”_

_Eyes crinkling in a smile, the Keeper replied, “Yes, really.”_

_“Wow.”_

_“You needn’t face this alone, da’len. I will be here to guide you every step of the way.”_

_“Thank you,” the small girl said softly. She was in awe. It was as if the world had just got a lot bigger, but she’d stayed the same size. It was a scary feeling. It was an exciting feeling._

_“Do you have any questions?” The Keeper asked, knowing that even if there were none now, there definitely would be later on, especially when they started her training._

_“Yes.”_

_“Go on, da’len.”_

_Ellana looked up at her with those big halla eyes, “Is Gariel going to be okay?”_

_Deshanna smiled, “Of course. Let’s go find him, shall we?”_

_When they located the dark-haired elf, the Keeper had to hold back a grin. Since she’d pulled Ellana away from the commotion to talk to her, Gariel’s brown hair still hadn’t returned to its normal position. It was sticking up in all directions like a startled hedgehog. But at least it wasn’t smoking…_

_Much._

_Gariel beamed at Ellana when he saw her approach, ears twitching with excitement. He hopped off the bench, the healer next to him startling slightly._

_“Are you okay?” Ellana asked, accepting the hug thrust upon her._

_“Yeah! The healer says I’m going to be fine.” Over their heads, the healer and the Keeper shared a nod that confirmed that he was okay, but Gariel didn’t notice, “But look!” He said, pulling back the bandage and the healer tutted, “He said it’s going to leave a scar!”_

_The intricate spider webs of small, thread-like scars working their way up Gariel’s forearm didn’t leave Ellana as gleeful as it left her friend. She glanced up worriedly at the Keeper, “Am I dangerous?”_

_The Keeper took a deep breath and try to balance reality with calming the child, “Yes. But so is Gariel with a sword.”_

_“You bet!”_

_“Magic is no more dangerous than a blade. Both can be controlled, both can be used, and both can be used safely.”_

_It seemed to appease Ellana, but Gariel was gaping, “MAGIC!?” The excitable elf yelled, “I thought it was a big static shock!”_

_The healer and the Keeper laughed, watching the two children. It didn’t seem that this would affect their friendship. That was important. Over the coming weeks, months, years even, Ellana would need that kind of friend to fall back on. Her training would be hard, and Gariel could support her through that._

_Deshanna didn’t like interfering much in the friendships of her clan members, but the well-being of those elves was on her mind constantly. Perhaps Deshanna thought it was wrong, but the Keeper knew it had to be done. Sometimes she had to choose duty over her opinions. And her duty in this moment was to ensure the safety of her clan members, of Ellana, and that meant ensuring she was supported. If that meant cultivating her friendship with Gariel, so be it._

_“Come on, then,” Deshanna said, extending a hand for each of the children, “I’ve got a surprise.”_

The Keeper had shown them how to paint in the traditional elven style in the hopes of bringing them together. The day was wonderful, and they enjoyed painting together. They didn’t paint many more times together after that, however. For some reason, the Keeper began to push them together and try to force them to paint together. The two resisted vehemently. They were just children, and they thought the Keeper and maybe their families were trying to arrange a marriage between them. But Ellana and Gariel were just friends and they couldn’t ever see each other in a romantic way. In fact, the thought repulsed them.

So, the only times they painted together was when they snuck away under the cover of darkness to paint out by the lake they’d stopped by. They painted rocks using crushed shells mixed with water that they made in a bowl one of them borrowed from around the campfire at dinner. Once they’d finished, when the night was over, they threw their masterpieces into the lake, lest they be found by the Keeper and she think her plan to set them up was succeeding. Their sneaky painting sessions only happened a handful of times, but it was fun and Ellana still hadn’t forgotten them.  
The children weren’t to know that the Keeper was only trying to foster a friendship. Even if Deshanna had been aware of their misconception at her attempts to create enough support for Ellana, she probably wouldn’t have been able to convince them otherwise. Young elves are stubborn like that.

Painting the rotunda now, Ellana thought back on Gariel fondly. It was a shame they drifted apart after that. She supposed she could look him up now, go and talk to him when she visited her clan. But it wouldn’t be old friends reuniting their friendship. It would be the Inquisitor paying a visit to the clan and harassing one of their members in particular. He probably didn’t want to talk to her now, anyway.

It was a shame.

It was reality.

Ellana cracked her neck and stepped off the ladder, rather wearily. Thinking back on her lost friend filled her with a sad happiness that turned her sleepiness into actual tiredness. That’s why she was glad that she’d finished the next mural when she had.

Initially, Solas had painted the Temple of Sorrows, with the last Eluvian central and protected by two elven guards. She didn’t like that the only mention of the elves on the fresco was the remnants of a dead time in their history. To her, it was important their history be remembered, but also that they remember that moving on is important too. Thus, when it came to repainting this panel, she replaced it with a representation of elves nowadays.

The central piece in this mural was, and she was slightly ashamed to admit it, based on Gariel. As a child, when they were friends and didn’t have the cares they did now. He stood in the middle, beaming and staring straight ahead, surrounded by elven symbols. On the left, was the Dalish, with their leaf-shaped shields and handcrafted bows and swords. On the right, were the City Elves, with their own culture and intricate tree designs. Both united by that child-like wonder in that small child’s eyes.

She was proud of that representation of elves. It was how it should be; united, but different. Standing together as elves, but apart as individuals with their own culture. No prejudice, no hatred, just acceptance.

She climbed back off the ladder, satisfied with her work, and made her way back to her room sluggishly, feet almost dragging in the empty main hall. It was cold; the hearths wouldn’t be revived for several hours since no one was in the communal spaces at this hour. Ellana conjured a small flame in her palm to keep her warm until she got to her quarters, where undoubtedly, a warm fire would greet her. 

* * *

  
The next day, the room was alive and abuzz with activity and noise. Ellana painted alone, and in dribs and drabs was joined by a variety of people. Dorian and Bull came in, adopting the same position as yesterday, with less resistance from the mage.

Josephine brought Leliana to come and see, pointing out her figure on the Advisors panel. Then the Ambassador disappeared and slowly returned over the course of the day with different groups of nobles to show off what the Inquisitor was doing. Sometimes Varric would entertain some of them with a fantastical tale, or sometimes just a snide remark.

Cassandra arrived once she overheard some nobles gawking about the rotunda. When she arrived, she was shocked. She never expected something so beautiful. She spent almost ten minutes looking at each of the panels in detail, something Varric mocked endlessly, but she didn’t mind. Such artwork deserved attention.

Sera joined and tried to replace the paint, but Ellana was having none of it, having seen the elf enter and yelled at Cassandra to keep her away from the paints.

When Vivienne arrived, to make an appearance with the nobles, Ellana didn’t expect what she said. She looked over her own portrait intently, deeply touched at her inclusion. Aloud, she commented that her nose didn’t really look like that, but as she walked past the Inquisitor, she congratulated her on doing such a fabulous job. Ellana was touched.

The bard came and sang and played to entertain everyone as they watched.

By the time that Ellana was finished, all of the members of the inner circle were gathered, watching her step off the ladder for the last time. She turned and smiled at all of her friends.  
Solas’ last panel was unfinished. Some sort of greyscale draft of what could have been if he hadn’t abandoned them. It was the end and he wasn’t here to finish it. That’s why, when Ellana came to the last panel, she decided to draw her family. And that was why Solas wasn’t on it.

“Ta-da!” She said tiredly, still turning around with a flair of her amputated arm, “The Inquisition!”

In the panel was all of her friends, her family, her Inquisition. Blackwall, Bull, Cassandra, Cole, Cullen, Dorian, Josephine, Leliana, Sera, Varric and Vivienne.

She looked at all of her friends surrounding her in the room she’d spent days creating, and she felt proud. She’d erased Solas’ mark on Skyhold and made her own. She was free and unburdened by that memory. This was a new place with new memories to be made.

Ellana smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked the little bit about Gariel, I wasn't sure whether to keep it in or not, but here it is anyway!  
That's the end, though! I hope y'all have had fun, thank you for staying with it to the end! Let me know what you thought! XD

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, leave kudos and a comment if you have the time XD


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